


Swapped

by flannelcastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Swap, M/M, Magic, Spells & Enchantments, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelcastiel/pseuds/flannelcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from Tumblr: Dean and Cas switch bodies.</p><p>Two words: Fucking. Witches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swapped

A close encounter with witches brings Dean and Cas closer together than they ever intended.

Or wanted.

When he comes to, Dean’s vision is stained with vivid color, which is quickly bleached and replaced with a veil of white. He blinks, the soft flutter of eyelashes brushing his cheeks creating a sense of facial hyper-awareness. He rotates his jaw, feels the brush of his molars—an odd feeling, since he’s had an overbite all his life. It’s not like life on the road could afford braces.

"Dean?" he hears, and it’s his own voice. But his lips weren’t opening or closing, and there is definitely no reason he’d be calling his own name. He starts to sit up but is immediately hit with a wave of fatigue that’s a mix between hunger and loneliness, and his mouth fills with saliva. That’s definitely hunger. Mostly.

He groans and rolls up completely, surprised how his voice wanes and falls into a deep, unknown register so easily. Dean’s vision is finally beginning to blossom with true color and light and an actual ability to survey his surroundings. And with it, comes the memory of the moments before falling unconscious. _  
_

It was a simple case of a witch hunt. Dean thought he could handle it solo, since Sam was going back to school and everything (he needed _out_ and Dean knew it) but Cas, his live-in-mother of sorts, refused to let him go by himself (“Dean, if misfortune fell upon you I could never forgive myself. I am coming.”).

Begrudgingly, he brought Cas, who was actually quite the resource. He knew what hex bags were needed to make the witches powerless when it came time to persuade ‘em to put away the grimoire of doom or gank ‘em. And they showed up at some sketchy abandoned factory to read them the company line—but they were ambushed. This coven was the freaking shit of Kansas, apparently.

And now here he is, disoriented and straining his body to move. And the thought hits him explosively, his blood running cold:  _Cas._

His lips form around the name but it’s a croak, all weird sounding yet familiar again, and he blinks again to adjust his vision to what he now realizes is darkness.

"Dean, I’m here," that same voice that sounds like Dean says, and then Dean feels a hand squeeze his shoulder. Whether or not that sounds like Cas or not, that squeeze is Cas. Cas is okay. He sighs in relief and doesn’t shy away from the touch; in fact, he leans into it and closes his eyes.

"Fucking witches," Dean mutters. Just as the words fall out of his lips, he knows that behind its hoarseness isn’t his own voice—but it’s impossible— _he sounds like Cas._  “What the…”

Cas drops his hand.”It seems as though the witches transplanted our respective consciousnesses into different bodies. Our bodies. It is very powerful magic founded upon the scientific theory—”

"Shut up," Dean snaps, palming his forehead as pain begins to knot in the center. "Don’t talk—like that. With my voice."

"Apologies," he mutters back. "I was just trying to explain the situation. I do not understand how you find wearing women’s underwear comfortable, although I see merit in the texture."

"Oh my freaking Jesus, Cas, shut the fuck up!" He flattens his palms against the floor and pushes up. He wobbles, balance wavering. He blinks toward the floor as he sees his own body visible in the faint darkness. It’s  _him,_ but it’s not. Cas carries himself so much differently, it’s hard to picture that it could even be his body in that moment.

And then this body. It feels like his own, he guesses, but he feels more lithe. Dean tentatively touches his hair, Cas’s hair, and is shocked by how soft it is. He laces his fingers through the shag and swallows. This isn’t him, but his cheeks flush at the thought of this is Cas. He forces his hands to his sides, and the mere brush of his fingertips against the hilt of his thighs is intimate; he shoves his hands in the pockets of the blue jeans he’s pretty sure are  _actually_ his and Dean is hyper aware that there is only so much fabric between his touch and Cas’s skin. It feels weird and he feels sick for his blood running a little hotter.

"We gotta find those witches. Pronto," Dean mutters.


End file.
